


Temptation Greets You Like Your Naughty Friend

by ritarabbit



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Boarding School, F/F, Party, Snuggling, Underage Drinking, Vomiting, sleepover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 05:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritarabbit/pseuds/ritarabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate's gotten herself nearly drunk enough to tell Irene how she feels about her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temptation Greets You Like Your Naughty Friend

“Kate? Katie?”  
Irene is standing outside the ladies, leaning against the door. She knows Kate is inside vomiting her guts out. And she knows it’s all her fault.  
“I’m all right,” the girls sniffs from inside. “Really. Go back downstairs.”  
“And leave you like this?” The red polish on Irene’s nails is chipping. She’s sure her makeup is smudged and her blue eyeliner running down her cheeks mixed in with the mascara. It’s sweaty down there at the party and she and Kate had been dancing hard. God it had been so nice. And then Kate looked sick. Irene speaks to the closed door again. “Not a chance.”  
Kate presses her face to the cool tile of the wall beside her. “I’m all right.” She repeats it like a mantra. Like if she says it enough, maybe she’ll start to believe it. And maybe Irene will just go back and enjoy herself and not worry over Kate.  
“Katherine Bellamy, you open this door at once,” Irene demands, nudging at it with the toe of her black stiletto. It’s a good-quality shoe. A Christian Louboutin of her mother’s. But she’s pissed as hell at Mrs. Adler and doesn’t care if she scuffs the shoes or loses them or even lets Kate puke on them.  
Kate stifles a sob and feels her stomach lurch. She’s dizzy and braces herself against the wall once more. “I’ll manage. Go back the the party.”  
Irene sighs. She’ll try being gentler. “Katie, I have to pee.”  
Damn. There is a flushing sound and Kate stumbles to the door and unlocks it. The light from the hall blinds her and she blinks a few times before Irene—dressed in a tight black spandex dress—materializes before her.  
“Christ, Kate. You poor little mess.” Irene shakes her head and walks toward the sink. “Come here.”  
Kate is ashamed. She can feel the tears staining her mascara-stained eyes. Everything tastes like liquor and sick. Her head is starting to pound. She does not move.  
“Don’t be a pain, Katie. Do what I say.”  
Irene’s voice is like a buzzing in her head. It’s not a pretty sound (she usually thinks of it as even more than pretty) but she can’t seem to stop listening. Kate clumsily wipes her nose on her sleeve. She’s bitter with the older girl, knowing full-well her bitterness comes from a place of jealousy. All she drank has made everything fuzzy and she’s about to say things she usually wouldn’t dare say about the girl standing across from her, the girl with whom she’s been infatuated since she first set eyes on her.  
“Isn’t that how we got in to this whole damn mess in the first place?” Kate snaps. “Because I was doing what you wanted me to?”  
Irene’s eyes flicker. The look on her face makes Kate think for the first time in her life that Irene could actually hurt her if she wanted to. She’s taller, stronger, older. She’s powerful within their friend group. Kate knows Irene could hurt her and that she could ruin her, too. But only if she wanted.  
“I never asked you to match me drink for drink.” Her anger rises. “I never asked you to see me as this great thing to imitate, to try and—“ Irene breathes, stopping herself from saying something she’d regret. “Go on now, put some water on your face.”  
Kate knows she was stupid to ever try and match Irene Adler at anything. She moves toward the sink and stumbles. She knows she’s going to fall on the dirty, disgusting bathroom floor right in front of Irene. But as she’s falling, she feels a hand grasp her arm and catches red-painted nails in her peripheral vision.  
“Come on, up you go.”  
Irene helps Kate to her feet, but the younger girl is far too wobbly. She stumbles against the bathroom stall. It is Irene’s grasp that saves her again and this time, she holds her more steadily. “My goodness, you’re as clumsy as a newborn kitten that hasn’t even opened its eyes.”  
Kate cracks a smile.  
“Splash some water on your face. And we best fix your hair.”  
Irene wipes Kate’s makeup-smeared, dripping face then takes the wet paper towel to her hair. “This is my fault. I should have looked out for you at that party. You drank too much.”  
“Only as much as…you.” Kate feels uneasy, and this time the drinks are hardly at fault.  
“I know, but I’m more experienced, dear.” She brushes her finger under Kate’s chin playfully. It’s a simple gesture that makes Kate’s insides feel warm. “I’ve been at this game far longer than you have. I should have looked out for you.”  
Kate straightens her spine and her head pounds with the movement. “I’m not a child,” she says.  
Irene turns from the mirror where she’s been fixing her smeared lipstick. “I didn’t say that.” She locks eyes with her own reflection. Kate watches. “But if one of those Eton College boys so much as glanced at you when you’d rather he didn’t, I should have been there.”  
“Irene…”  
“Katie, you’d have to be daft to not know you’re very special to me.”  
Kate’s heart pounds. She wonders if this is it, if this is the moment Irene tells her something along the lines of feelings or crushes or love of any of those unfamiliar concepts.  
Irene smacks her lips together and speaks before Kate can even find words. “Now, lets get you off to bed. You’ll sleep in my room; there’s no use letting your housemother see you like this.”  
Kate looks at her shoes, worn black heels she’s had and hid from her straight-laced mother for ages. “Am I a mess?”  
Irene nods. “A very sweet mess.” She pushes Kate’s long and slightly dampened red hair back from her face and they walk down the hall and into Irene’s bedroom. It’s a single room and it’s tiny; there’s hardly room for Kate on the floor, but she curls up anyway.  
“Oh get in the bed,” Irene laughs.  
Kate kicks off her shoes and climbs under the blanket. A moment later, Irene is at her side, wearing a green silk bathrobe. “Do you feel all right?”  
“Yes. I think I’m still a little drunk though.”  
Irene nods, bracing her lips against a laugh.  
Kate rests her head on Irene’s shoulder and she’s still tipsy enough that the robe feels cool on her flushed cheeks. But maybe she’s just tipsy on Irene’s closeness.“I really like you, Irene. Is that..wrong?”  
Irene laughs. “Of course not, dear. I like you, too. And you are very much still drunk. So get some sleep. ”  
Kate lies back against the pillow, turns her back to Irene and stares at the white wall just inches from her nose. Suddenly she’s thinking quite clearly. She’s not drunk, just lightheaded, just wondering if Irene will remember her confession in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to thewomanthewhiphand.tumblr.com (Mydnyte_Houre) for being my co-captain of the good ship Irate. Title comes from the Arctic Monkeys' song.


End file.
